The kind old lady got into her car

And I wondered if she was going to disappear.

I started walking through the hordes of people

When an airplane passed

Overhead, gliding not-so-gracefully through a cloud

Which made me think it might vanish, too.

“You’re being way too

Much,” my friend teased in her car

But my head was still lost in the cloud

Of where things go and what could disappear.

More and more time had passed

With nothing to separate me from these people.

Murderers and horn-honkers and those types of people,

Sure, but the no-good do-nothings, too.

And maybe the time for Carpe Diem had passed

But I suddenly wanted to get out of that car

Because everything behind me was starting to disappear

Into the misty gray of a storm cloud.

Outside, I peered up at a light, cirrus cloud

As I walked into the restaurant filled with my people.

Before long, I wanted nothing more than to disappear;

They were all there for me and it was too

Overwhelming when I didn’t even own a car

And the age for things like that had long since passed.

Slowly but surely, though, the evening passed

And soon the unshakeable cloud

Of fatigue had filled my head. As I waited for the car,

Saying goodbye to all of those people,

I wondered if I had drunk too

much: I felt sad knowing they would all probably disappear.

They would. Just like most people disappear.

And as the steadfast sun passed

The horizon line I hoped that I wouldn’t disappear, too.

Because who really remembers who invented the cloud

Or the science of people

Or who created the first car.

And when enough time has passed like each speeding car

We’ll disappear. Fickle people

Who spend too much time with their head in a cloud.